


Severus in Control

by suitesamba



Series: Severus in Control [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-26
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape is always in control--even when he's not.</p><p>Written for Torino10154's "Blow Job Friday" challenge on LJ/IJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	Severus in Control

He wasn’t doing this. He really wasn’t doing this.

Severus Snape _was_ doing this.

Sitting on a plush blanket which covered a leather arm chair, naked, restrained, eyes blindfolded. In a room that resembled a small library, with shelves of old books, a roaring fire, a small table beside the chair, another arm chair, empty.

In a Muggle establishment in London, after paying an exorbitant fee and getting through a health screening, psychological profiling and a mountain of increasingly detailed surveys to determine his perfect fantasy.

Blinded as he was, he could hear every sound acutely. The burning logs popping behind the screen, the creek of footsteps on the floor above him, the sound of a door opening then closing a moment later with a soft snick. The sudden intake of breath, the hesitant footsteps approaching him. The softly whispered _“fuck.”_

“Kneel.”

His voice was commanding, for it was his game to play, despite his vulnerable position. The Madame had understood that immediately and had promised him an obedient servant, the perfect servant indeed.

He heard the other man move—it would be a man, it must be a man—and felt the slight brush of fabric against his naked legs. Heard a groan, suppressed. Felt his cock, already on alert from anticipation alone, give a needy pulse. He ignored it with great effort.

“You are not to speak. Touch my knee to acknowledge you understand and agree to comply.”

Fingers brushed his right knee almost immediately.

“Good. You are to arouse me without touching my cock. You may use any of the implements on the table beside me. I want to be hard as nails and dripping before you so much as brush your fingers against that flesh. Begin with something soft, on my nipples.

He felt the brush of a feather almost immediately and knew the other man had chosen the quill. The feather moved from his right nipple over to his left and as it did so something else, something softer still, descended on the right. Lips, tongue, moist, warm. The lips fastened around the nub as the tongue brushed it and then _shit shit shit_ suction, the tug of arousal shooting directly down to his cock. The mouth left the nipple to move to the left and fingers replaced the mouth on the right, toying with the hard nub, pinching lightly, dancing delicately over aureole then back to the center, a gentle squeeze becoming harder pressure then nearly delicious pain. The mouth lifted and blew, the dancing feather returned.

“I am ready for more,” he said, the breathless quality of his voice surprising him. He nodded toward the table he could not see. He knew the clamps were there. He had chosen them himself, both sets, both types. Which would his servant choose? He waited, tense, felt the man shift, heard him lift something from the table. Grunted and tensed as leather-coated metal clamped around his aroused nub. Sighed with near disappointment that the man had taken the safe route, the strong clamps with the leather lining to take away the bite of metal.

Was not prepared, then, for the sting of pain as the second clamp descended, metal on flesh.

The man had chosen one of each. Clever. Clever and arousing. The element of surprise.

“Arouse me further,” he grunted, tensing bound arms and legs and scooting forward fractionally in the chair, letting the other man know that his balls and arse were not off-limits.

He felt instead the slow pull as the man gently tugged each nipple clamp forward, turning each slightly, stretching skin and making heat pool in his belly. He wanted to jerk forward, he wanted friction around his cock, a mouth on his bollocks, a finger in his arse, an arse to fuck with reckless abandon.

He would be patient. It was his game. He would call it.

“Your mouth on my bollocks. Now.”

His nipples burned, on fire, ants crawling on one, needles stabbing the other, unbalanced, unpredictable, as the man rested fingers on his knees, pushed them apart slowly, worked his body forward. A delicate touch as a hand cupped his sac. His cock was already hard and pulsing but it wasn’t time yet. Not yet. He had control. He could go on like this for an hour or more. He had before.

The fingers slid in toward the vee of his groin and he tried to spread his legs even further but the chair was not large enough so he pushed forward again, jarring the clamps on his nipples, the tug of arousal shooting again to his cock as they bounced and bit, the throb of pain just one more thing he could control, must control.

The mouth that had sucked at his nipples, the tongue that had laved them, the lips that had caressed them, worked around a single bollock in its sack and drew it into that moist cavern, sucking gently with small, regular, perfect pulls. He could feel it tighten, could feel its partner draw up with it. Willed it to relax. Willed it to wait. The ball popped out of the moist cavern with a gentle pop and his cock was nudged away with a smooth cheek as the other bollock was engulfed, as calloused fingers began to work the skin of his sac and edged back behind it, pressing at juncture of ball sac and perineum, delivering a delicious jolt as his cock filled even more.

“There is a dildo on the table. Choose…the larger one. I am ready for it now. Prepare me with your fingers first.”

He had brought his own lube, in a special jar of clear glass. He heard the lid unscrew and could almost hear the sound of the man scooping the slippery liquid out.

“One finger first. I will require three before you insert the toy.”

A wet finger swiped lightly behind his balls, over his hole, back again toward his balls. It caressed him again, and again, teasing him. He wanted to cry out but grunted instead, inched forward—he was practically lying down in the chair now and with the leg and arm restraints could go no further. Finally the finger pushed swiftly into him, up to the first knuckle, slipped out, caressed his rim again, slid back in, deeper this time. Just exactly how he liked it. The finger fucked him rhythmically, in and out, crooking forward, until he asked for another.

“Two now. Scissor them. Stretch me.”

The second finger brought the burn but it was delicious, matching the slow burn of his nipples under the clamps. He could feel the man’s breath on his balls, the moist pant of his breathing, as the fingers worked him. He nearly came when the mouth surprised him by descending again on his bollocks and laving them, pulling one into that mouth, running tongue around it while applying pressure, letting it pop out to go after the other while the fingers continued their in and out play, scissoring apart and stretching him as they pushed back in, deeper, deeper, deeper still.

“Three. Open me.”

The addition of the third was barely felt but the force of the push was stronger now, the intrusion deeper. His prostate was brushed and he nearly screamed, swallowing the sound with a strangled moan. The jerk of his body each time the fingers grazed his prostate set the nipple clamps bouncing and he knew he could not last, no matter his resolve, no matter the tight control he exercised over everything in his life, including his own body.

“Insert the dildo. Fuck me. Do it!”

The man working him knew how to follow orders. The fingers slid out and he barely missed them before the dildo pressed against his opening, moving inward with more girth than the three fingers, much longer than their reach. He knew how large that dildo was, larger than any cock the other man could possibly have ever seen, and blessed the Madame for giving him such an obedient servant, one who did not second guess him, did not blanch at inserting the monstrous toy into him.

“ _Oh fuck._ Push it. Push it in!” It was slow and steady and just painful enough but not enough and at his order the entire thing was pushed into him at once and he could not breathe as it owned him, as he fought to master it.

“Untie my hands. Untie my hands NOW!”

Fumbling at the knots then his hands were free and he reached out and grabbed what flesh was before him, the man’s head, taking hold of it firmly, surprised to find long hair, tangled but soft. He pulled the head up toward his own, issuing orders still. “Fuck me with the toy while you kiss me.”

He jerked the man up against him, pulling his face toward his own, but the man did not need convincing, fastening his lips so quickly around Severus’ that Severus felt the soft pull of those lips before the burn of the clamps as the man fell against his chest. He clenched around the dildo, pulled back from the pressure of the clamps and ravaged the mouth on his own, surprised by the feel of spectacles on the face but too hot, too needy, too in control—always in control—to bother with the detail. At last Severus pushed the man away, gasping, and rasped out.

“Suck me. Ten minutes. I do not want to come for at least ten more minutes.”

One arm slid around his back while the second grasped the base of his cock behind his balls tightly and pulled up quickly as the mouth descended over the tip of his cock and heaven, heaven in those lips, in that pressure, in the swipe of tongue over cockhead and slit, of the pressure against that soft palate as the throat worked more and more of his cock in, easing it in, coaxing it in, mouth stretched around its girth, hand still squeezing and caressing the base of the shaft, knee—fuck, he was pressing on the end of the dildo with uplifted knee—between his legs.

Severus threw his head back and moaned, buried his fingers in that thick head of hair, pushed his cock up into that throat though it was already as far back as it could possibly go, fucked that mouth, marveling at how much the man was able to take, how there was never more than the most gentle graze of teeth, how his cock fit into the mouth as if the mouth had been born to take it. He felt fingers graze his balls, felt them tighten, felt the fingers around the base of his cock tighten into a more effective cock ring as the head of his cock pushed against the back of the throat and he was almost there, but not yet, so in control yet so totally controlled by that mouth, that tongue, those lips, those hands, all of them obeying him, following his dictates yet managing to leave him so exposed. He could die like this, right now, the petite mort a real death, and know that had lived fully and completely.

“Release your hand,” he breathed at last, “slowly.”

The grip relaxed fractionally, then a bit more. His cock reacted instantly, all of his blood, all of the sensations in his body, all of _him_ rushing downward, edging toward that pinnacle, pushing higher, higher, one more centimeter, and another, before the orgasm ripped through him, out of him, dropping him over the precipice into freefall, the only thing anchoring him those lips around his cock, sucking him, swallowing his seed, the hand easing out the dildo, dropping it onto the floor, gently removing the clamps, dropping them too, as he hissed, cradling that head, his hands smoothing down the hair, pushing long strands behind the ears, rhythmic petting as he softly keened, as his cock softened in the man’s mouth, as the man pushed his nose into Severus’ groin and inhaled and sighed.

A long moment as soft cheek and bristled chin rested on his thigh.

“We are finished here. Untie my legs then you may leave.”

He struggled to put the power back in his voice, to remind the other than he was in control. His softening cock was released from the mouth and a light kiss pressed upon its tip. He felt languid, peaceful, renewed. He felt the cords around his legs relax then fall and was surprised at the ghost of breath on his cheek and the lips covering his own while hands cupped his head, fingers caressing his skull while lips and tongue worked his mouth, pulling from him a moan he had not meant to release.

The lips left his and the man turned and walked away, pausing at the door to look back one more time at the man in the chair. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door.

Madame had said that fantasies were real. She had told him that he would be part of someone else’s fantasy and someone else in turn would be part of his own. That the circle was complete in the giving and the receiving.

To say that it had been a shock to walk into Severus Snape’s fantasy was as accurate as saying that a hurricane was a gentle breeze, its driving rains mere spring showers. That Dumbledore was an adequate wizard. That Severus Snape was merely brave.

But he had his own fantasy to walk into now, and Harry Potter was suddenly and absolutely convinced that he would be seeing Severus Snape again—and soon. He walked quickly down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.

(End Part 1)


End file.
